Title: "An Alternate End to Lupine Wonse"
Disclaimer: I do not own Sam Vimes, Lord Havelock Vetinari, or any of the other characters of the Discworld. They were all created and owned by Terry Pratchett, and I am not profiting from them in any way whatsoever. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, so please don't sue.
Rating: PG-13, for one or two dirty words.
Summary: An alternate ending for Lupine Wonse, and Vimes gets an insight into what motivates Vetinari.
Feedback: Would be greatly appreciated! Please read and review.
*Author's Note:* While rereading GUARDS, GUARDS! and MEN AT ARMS at the same time, I had a dream one night which formed the basis of this story. If you ignore such facts as the plots of the two novels running together, plus Constable Cuddy still being alive, this story isn't *too* bad, I think. Lupine Wonse as portrayed in this story is also quite different from Wonse as he appears in GUARDS, GUARDS! Wonse's ending in the novel was what he deserved, but in my story, I have portrayed him as being more mentally disturbed than evil. This story is really more about Vetinari and his motivations, anyway. Please read it.
Other Details: I have used *asterisks* around words to indicate emphasis, and a lot of asterisks plus tildes to indicate the passage of time. I have used [brackets] around words to indicate unvoiced thoughts.
Lupine Wonse's terrified eyes left Vimes and fixed on Vetinari. "*You!*" he cried, in a voice that was half a scream, half a sob. "You—how do you *do* it? No one—no one even *likes* you."
The Patrician gave his former secretary a look that was patient, almost indulgent. Vimes realized, with a touch of surprise, that no one knew the truth of what Wonse had just said better than Vetinari himself, and that *it didn't bother him.* "Wonse," the Patrician said in a voice that, especially for Vetinari, was almost kind, "stop this nonsense now, and you can still escape with your life. Good heavens, man, do you seriously believe you are the first person to attempt to take power from me?" He glanced at Vimes, as if expecting the Watchman's support.
"Er—yes, that's true," Vimes said quickly, following his superior's lead. "If I had to lock up everyone who ever thought about killing Vetinari, the whole city would be one big jail." [With myself as the first prisoner.]
"I wasn't going to kill him!" Wonse cried. "Just exile him, that's all!"
"Yes," the Patrician said, more to himself than to the exited secretary; Vimes himself, standing quite close to Vetinari, barely heard the words. "That was your mistake." The Patrician raised his voice so that the agitated man could hear him. "In return, Wonse, I shall do the same for you. Put the gonne down now, and you shall be sent away from the city—"
The former secretary was shaking his head. "Oh, no! I know your plan! I put down the gonne, Vimes grabs me—"
"Captain Vimes will not hurt you," Vetinari said, his voice calm. "Isn't that right, Captain?"
"Er, yes," Vimes said. [Not much, anyway. Got to get that gonne away from him. What's Vetinari's game, anyway? Why hasn't he summoned the palace guard? There are enough of them to kill this crazy bastard, even if he does have the gonne.]
Cuddy appeared out of nowhere. "Here it is, sir," he said breathlessly, thrusting out a strange, thin object of glass with a short needle on the end. "Leonard of Quirm made it—says you'll know what to do with it." Vimes was not certain if Cuddy was addressing the Patrician or himself; he reached for the object gingerly. The Patrician stopped him with a hand on his arm, and delicately took the object from Cuddy himself.
"See?" Wonse screamed. "Dwarfs! Trolls! Undead! *Klatchians!* You're letting freaks and outsiders *ruin* this city! I *had* to take over!"
Cuddy frowned. "Who are you calling a freak, you—"
"That's enough, Corporal," Vetinari said. "You may leave us now. Captain Vimes and I will be down momentarily."
[We will?] Vimes thought.
"Sir," Cuddy said. He gave Wonse a hostile glance, but disappeared back the way he came.
"What did you do that for?" Vimes hissed at Vetinari. "We need all the help we can get, subduing this loony bastard—"
The Patrician ignored him and stepped forward. "Lupine, come here. Let me help you."
"*Help* me?" Wonse shrieked. "Oh, that's bloody priceless! When did you ever help *anyone,* you cold bastard? And what's that you've got there? Some kind of poison? That's it, isn't it? I'll surrender, you'll give me the poison, and then I'll die later, so it doesn't look as if you've done anything—"
"No, Lupine." Vetinari's voice was so gentle that Vimes could scarcely credit it. The Patrician might have been talking to a sick child. "I do want to give this to you, but it is not poison, I promise. It is a sedative. It will soothe you, make you sleep, nothing more."
Wonse blinked at him. The hands holding the gonne trembled; the weapon lowered slightly.
Astonishingly, the Patrician's voice became even more gentle, even kind. His gaze was fixed on his former secretary, and his voice was low, soothing, mesmerizing. "You want to sleep, don't you, Lupine? Wouldn't you like all of this to be over now? When you open your eyes again, wouldn't you like to be somewhere safe, where no one will hurt you?" Somehow, Vetinari had gotten much closer to Wonse. The Patrician held out a perfectly steady hand; the other held the glass object with the needle. "Give me the gonne, Lupine."
Wonse, who had been staring at his former master as if hypnotized, suddenly jerked the gonne up. Vimes heard a gasp at his elbow, and felt the large presence of Carrot. The gonne was pointed straight at the Patrician. "No! *No!* Y-you're trying to trick me—"
"Do you trust Corporal Carrot, then?" Vetinari said, still very gently. "Carrot won't let anyone hurt you, will you, Corporal?"
"Or course not, sir." Carrot stepped forward, and to Vimes' vast amazement, placed a gentle hand on Wonse's shoulder. "Give the gonne to the Patrician, Mr. Wonse."
The former secretary looked confused. His head swiveled from his former master to the big young Watchman; his grip loosened on the gonne. Vetinari easily took it from him then handed it back to Vimes without looking around. Vimes took it quickly, lowering it so that it pointed at the floor.
Wonse suddenly began to cry in a way that was heartrending, crying as only a very small child or a grown man wracked beyond his endurance can cry. "I—I wanted to ch-change things. I wanted to m-make the city *better.* I d-didn't want to hurt anyone. It was the *gonne,* you see. The g-gonne..."
"Bless you, Mr. Wonse, we know that," Carrot said soothingly. Over Wonse's head, the young Watchman's kind eyes met Vetinari's normally- unreadable blue ones, and something passed between them that Vimes could not easily interpret. Carrot placed his arms around the weeping man, supporting him but holding him still.
Vetinari reached out and took hold of Wonse's wrist, turning the hand palm upward as if he meant to read his former secretary's fortune. He drew the younger man's arm out gently, pushed up the sleeve, and then rubbed the inside of Wonse's elbow lightly with what looked like a small scrap of cloth, which he then tossed aside. Vimes smelled a faint trace of alcohol. Then, under his astonished gaze, while Carrot continued to hold the weeping man and Vetinari maintained his firm hold on his former secretary's arm, Vimes saw the Patrician pierce the skin on the inside bend of Wonse's elbow, with the needle that was attached to the end of the glass tube. A little closer observation indicated that the Patrician was emptying the contents of the glass cylinder into Wonse's arm. Then Vetinari removed it, capped it, and made it disappear somewhere into the pockets of his well- worn black clothing. Gently, he pressed a small bit of sticking-plaster to the inside bend of Wonse's elbow, then released the former secretary's arm.
"There," Vetinari said quietly. "It is all right now, Lupine. Just relax."
"I—I c-can't..." Wonse sobbed, his body trembling in Carrot's hold.
"Shhh," the Patrician soothed, to Vimes' amazement. "It is reaction you're feeling, Lupine. There is nothing to fear. Just relax, let the sedative do its work. Don't fight it. It is quite strong, but soothing, and it will make you feel better. You are safe now, I promise. I am going to send you away for a nice long rest."
Wonse's eyes were already closing, his body relaxing. Carrot swung the small man up in his arms, as if Wonse were a sick child to be carried. The Patrician said something to Carrot so quietly that even Vimes, standing a few feet away, could not make out the words. Carrot nodded and turned, bearing Wonse, whose eyes were closed and whose tears had stopped, out of the room.
The Patrician turned back to Vimes. "Well, Captain, I believe we should dispose of the gonne now."
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Perhaps an hour later, after he and the Patrician had dismantled the gonne and thoroughly destroyed each part, Vimes followed Vetinari to an outside courtyard. A large covered cart stood there, manned by men in saffron-colored robes. It took Vimes a moment to recognize them as the Balancing Monks. A figure lay recumbent upon a stretcher, which was about to be loaded into the cart. A short monk, slightly older than the others, stood next to the stretcher, giving orders to the other monks. Vetinari approached him.
"Good day, Brother Winsome. All is proceeding?"
"Yes, my lord. Almost ready," the older monk responded. Vimes looked down at the figure on the stretcher, and was not surprised to see that it was Lupine Wonse. The young man was sleeping. The worry lines in his face had smoothed away, and there was no longer any trace of fear, anger, or confusion. His lips were slightly parted, his breathing deep and even. He was now clad in a short white gown. His wrists and ankles were bound to the stretcher with strong but soft cloth restraints, not hurting him, but not permitting the young man much movement.
"That is necessary, I'm afraid," the monk said apologetically, noticing how Vimes stared at the restraints. "It is only to keep him from harming himself or others, should he wake. We shall remove them when he is safely ensconced at his new home."
"Quite," the Patrician said, gazing down at the recumbent figure.
"But where—" Vimes began. At that moment, Wonse shivered and moaned in his sleep, stirring slightly. The monk swiftly moved to cover the too- thin body with a soft wool blanket, tucking it gently about Wonse. The young man quieted, as if deriving comfort from the touch.
The older monk nodded to his brethren. "Time to go, Brothers."
"Goodbye," Vimes murmured as the cart disappeared through an archway and in the direction of the city gates. He turned to the Patrician, but Lord Vetinari was gone.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Vimes entered the Oblong Office soundlessly; but the Patrician, whose back was to him, spoke without turning from the window. "Good morning, Captain."
"Good morning, Sir." [How does he *always* know who it is, without even looking?]
"I trust your meeting with the Guild representatives has gone well."
[Of course. If it hadn't, you would know about that, too.] "They seemed satisfied, Sir." [That's an overstatement—the only thing that would *satisfy* them is Wonse's head on a pike. But they had no choice that to accept matters as they are.]
"Good." Vetinari turned back to face Vimes. "I have heard from Brother Winsome."
"Did you, Sir?"
"They reached the monastery without incident, and Lupine Wonse now resides there safely. Brother Winsome informs me that Wonse has settled in well. He is quite happy, for he believes that he rules Ankh-Morpork, and that the monks are there to obey him."
Vimes blinked in surprise. "But won't that come as a shock to him, Sir, when he finds out it isn't true?"
The Patrician raised his elegant eyebrows. "How exactly should he find out, Captain? In his own disturbed mind, he is the Patrician. The monks are certainly not going to contradict him."
"But is that wise, Sir? It only lessens his grip on reality."
"Why should they seek to dissuade him of his views? When Wonse understood reality, he was miserable. Now he is safe and happy where he is, believing himself to be the ruler of the most powerful city in the world."
"Yes Sir," Vimes said. Because he did not agree, however, he could not resist adding a bit maliciously; "It makes you wonder how we know what is real, doesn't it, Sir? I mean, for all we know, you may be in a monastery or hospital somewhere, only *thinking* that you're the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork, when in fact it's just all in your own imagination."
Lord Vetinari gave the Captain of the Watch one of those stares that seemed to go on for just a moment too long. Vimes returned the stare innocently, his own gaze fixed to a spot just to the left of the Patrician's head. "Thank you, Captain," Vetinari said coolly, "but I am quite aware of the reality of the world, and my place in it. And yours, as well."
[Was that a threat?] "Mine, Sir?"
"Yes." Vetinari moved to sit at his desk. "We both, in our own ways, help to keep this city functioning—not for reasons of personal power, nor of avarice, and certainly not because we expect gratitude. We keep the city running because someone must, and we are the ones best qualified to do our jobs. Regardless of how much the people of this city may scorn us, Vimes, or even be unaware of us, in the end we do our work out of love."
Vimes blinked, staggered. [Did I hear him right? Did Vetinari actually admit to *loving* this city and its people? Did I lose consciousness at some point in this conversation—or is Wonse catching, and I'm hallucinating?] "Sir?"
Vetinari was already shuffling papers; he glanced up with a slightly impatient look. It was clear that as far as he was concerned, their conversation was at an end. "Was there something else, Captain?"
"No Sir," Vimes managed. Then: "Sir?"
Vetinari looked up.
Captain Samuel Vimes snapped off a parade-perfect salute, then turned and left.
Disclaimer: I do not own Sam Vimes, Lord Havelock Vetinari, or any of the other characters of the Discworld. They were all created and owned by Terry Pratchett, and I am not profiting from them in any way whatsoever. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, so please don't sue.
Rating: PG-13, for one or two dirty words.
Summary: An alternate ending for Lupine Wonse, and Vimes gets an insight into what motivates Vetinari.
Feedback: Would be greatly appreciated! Please read and review.
*Author's Note:* While rereading GUARDS, GUARDS! and MEN AT ARMS at the same time, I had a dream one night which formed the basis of this story. If you ignore such facts as the plots of the two novels running together, plus Constable Cuddy still being alive, this story isn't *too* bad, I think. Lupine Wonse as portrayed in this story is also quite different from Wonse as he appears in GUARDS, GUARDS! Wonse's ending in the novel was what he deserved, but in my story, I have portrayed him as being more mentally disturbed than evil. This story is really more about Vetinari and his motivations, anyway. Please read it.
Other Details: I have used *asterisks* around words to indicate emphasis, and a lot of asterisks plus tildes to indicate the passage of time. I have used [brackets] around words to indicate unvoiced thoughts.
Lupine Wonse's terrified eyes left Vimes and fixed on Vetinari. "*You!*" he cried, in a voice that was half a scream, half a sob. "You—how do you *do* it? No one—no one even *likes* you."
The Patrician gave his former secretary a look that was patient, almost indulgent. Vimes realized, with a touch of surprise, that no one knew the truth of what Wonse had just said better than Vetinari himself, and that *it didn't bother him.* "Wonse," the Patrician said in a voice that, especially for Vetinari, was almost kind, "stop this nonsense now, and you can still escape with your life. Good heavens, man, do you seriously believe you are the first person to attempt to take power from me?" He glanced at Vimes, as if expecting the Watchman's support.
"Er—yes, that's true," Vimes said quickly, following his superior's lead. "If I had to lock up everyone who ever thought about killing Vetinari, the whole city would be one big jail." [With myself as the first prisoner.]
"I wasn't going to kill him!" Wonse cried. "Just exile him, that's all!"
"Yes," the Patrician said, more to himself than to the exited secretary; Vimes himself, standing quite close to Vetinari, barely heard the words. "That was your mistake." The Patrician raised his voice so that the agitated man could hear him. "In return, Wonse, I shall do the same for you. Put the gonne down now, and you shall be sent away from the city—"
The former secretary was shaking his head. "Oh, no! I know your plan! I put down the gonne, Vimes grabs me—"
"Captain Vimes will not hurt you," Vetinari said, his voice calm. "Isn't that right, Captain?"
"Er, yes," Vimes said. [Not much, anyway. Got to get that gonne away from him. What's Vetinari's game, anyway? Why hasn't he summoned the palace guard? There are enough of them to kill this crazy bastard, even if he does have the gonne.]
Cuddy appeared out of nowhere. "Here it is, sir," he said breathlessly, thrusting out a strange, thin object of glass with a short needle on the end. "Leonard of Quirm made it—says you'll know what to do with it." Vimes was not certain if Cuddy was addressing the Patrician or himself; he reached for the object gingerly. The Patrician stopped him with a hand on his arm, and delicately took the object from Cuddy himself.
"See?" Wonse screamed. "Dwarfs! Trolls! Undead! *Klatchians!* You're letting freaks and outsiders *ruin* this city! I *had* to take over!"
Cuddy frowned. "Who are you calling a freak, you—"
"That's enough, Corporal," Vetinari said. "You may leave us now. Captain Vimes and I will be down momentarily."
[We will?] Vimes thought.
"Sir," Cuddy said. He gave Wonse a hostile glance, but disappeared back the way he came.
"What did you do that for?" Vimes hissed at Vetinari. "We need all the help we can get, subduing this loony bastard—"
The Patrician ignored him and stepped forward. "Lupine, come here. Let me help you."
"*Help* me?" Wonse shrieked. "Oh, that's bloody priceless! When did you ever help *anyone,* you cold bastard? And what's that you've got there? Some kind of poison? That's it, isn't it? I'll surrender, you'll give me the poison, and then I'll die later, so it doesn't look as if you've done anything—"
"No, Lupine." Vetinari's voice was so gentle that Vimes could scarcely credit it. The Patrician might have been talking to a sick child. "I do want to give this to you, but it is not poison, I promise. It is a sedative. It will soothe you, make you sleep, nothing more."
Wonse blinked at him. The hands holding the gonne trembled; the weapon lowered slightly.
Astonishingly, the Patrician's voice became even more gentle, even kind. His gaze was fixed on his former secretary, and his voice was low, soothing, mesmerizing. "You want to sleep, don't you, Lupine? Wouldn't you like all of this to be over now? When you open your eyes again, wouldn't you like to be somewhere safe, where no one will hurt you?" Somehow, Vetinari had gotten much closer to Wonse. The Patrician held out a perfectly steady hand; the other held the glass object with the needle. "Give me the gonne, Lupine."
Wonse, who had been staring at his former master as if hypnotized, suddenly jerked the gonne up. Vimes heard a gasp at his elbow, and felt the large presence of Carrot. The gonne was pointed straight at the Patrician. "No! *No!* Y-you're trying to trick me—"
"Do you trust Corporal Carrot, then?" Vetinari said, still very gently. "Carrot won't let anyone hurt you, will you, Corporal?"
"Or course not, sir." Carrot stepped forward, and to Vimes' vast amazement, placed a gentle hand on Wonse's shoulder. "Give the gonne to the Patrician, Mr. Wonse."
The former secretary looked confused. His head swiveled from his former master to the big young Watchman; his grip loosened on the gonne. Vetinari easily took it from him then handed it back to Vimes without looking around. Vimes took it quickly, lowering it so that it pointed at the floor.
Wonse suddenly began to cry in a way that was heartrending, crying as only a very small child or a grown man wracked beyond his endurance can cry. "I—I wanted to ch-change things. I wanted to m-make the city *better.* I d-didn't want to hurt anyone. It was the *gonne,* you see. The g-gonne..."
"Bless you, Mr. Wonse, we know that," Carrot said soothingly. Over Wonse's head, the young Watchman's kind eyes met Vetinari's normally- unreadable blue ones, and something passed between them that Vimes could not easily interpret. Carrot placed his arms around the weeping man, supporting him but holding him still.
Vetinari reached out and took hold of Wonse's wrist, turning the hand palm upward as if he meant to read his former secretary's fortune. He drew the younger man's arm out gently, pushed up the sleeve, and then rubbed the inside of Wonse's elbow lightly with what looked like a small scrap of cloth, which he then tossed aside. Vimes smelled a faint trace of alcohol. Then, under his astonished gaze, while Carrot continued to hold the weeping man and Vetinari maintained his firm hold on his former secretary's arm, Vimes saw the Patrician pierce the skin on the inside bend of Wonse's elbow, with the needle that was attached to the end of the glass tube. A little closer observation indicated that the Patrician was emptying the contents of the glass cylinder into Wonse's arm. Then Vetinari removed it, capped it, and made it disappear somewhere into the pockets of his well- worn black clothing. Gently, he pressed a small bit of sticking-plaster to the inside bend of Wonse's elbow, then released the former secretary's arm.
"There," Vetinari said quietly. "It is all right now, Lupine. Just relax."
"I—I c-can't..." Wonse sobbed, his body trembling in Carrot's hold.
"Shhh," the Patrician soothed, to Vimes' amazement. "It is reaction you're feeling, Lupine. There is nothing to fear. Just relax, let the sedative do its work. Don't fight it. It is quite strong, but soothing, and it will make you feel better. You are safe now, I promise. I am going to send you away for a nice long rest."
Wonse's eyes were already closing, his body relaxing. Carrot swung the small man up in his arms, as if Wonse were a sick child to be carried. The Patrician said something to Carrot so quietly that even Vimes, standing a few feet away, could not make out the words. Carrot nodded and turned, bearing Wonse, whose eyes were closed and whose tears had stopped, out of the room.
The Patrician turned back to Vimes. "Well, Captain, I believe we should dispose of the gonne now."
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Perhaps an hour later, after he and the Patrician had dismantled the gonne and thoroughly destroyed each part, Vimes followed Vetinari to an outside courtyard. A large covered cart stood there, manned by men in saffron-colored robes. It took Vimes a moment to recognize them as the Balancing Monks. A figure lay recumbent upon a stretcher, which was about to be loaded into the cart. A short monk, slightly older than the others, stood next to the stretcher, giving orders to the other monks. Vetinari approached him.
"Good day, Brother Winsome. All is proceeding?"
"Yes, my lord. Almost ready," the older monk responded. Vimes looked down at the figure on the stretcher, and was not surprised to see that it was Lupine Wonse. The young man was sleeping. The worry lines in his face had smoothed away, and there was no longer any trace of fear, anger, or confusion. His lips were slightly parted, his breathing deep and even. He was now clad in a short white gown. His wrists and ankles were bound to the stretcher with strong but soft cloth restraints, not hurting him, but not permitting the young man much movement.
"That is necessary, I'm afraid," the monk said apologetically, noticing how Vimes stared at the restraints. "It is only to keep him from harming himself or others, should he wake. We shall remove them when he is safely ensconced at his new home."
"Quite," the Patrician said, gazing down at the recumbent figure.
"But where—" Vimes began. At that moment, Wonse shivered and moaned in his sleep, stirring slightly. The monk swiftly moved to cover the too- thin body with a soft wool blanket, tucking it gently about Wonse. The young man quieted, as if deriving comfort from the touch.
The older monk nodded to his brethren. "Time to go, Brothers."
"Goodbye," Vimes murmured as the cart disappeared through an archway and in the direction of the city gates. He turned to the Patrician, but Lord Vetinari was gone.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Vimes entered the Oblong Office soundlessly; but the Patrician, whose back was to him, spoke without turning from the window. "Good morning, Captain."
"Good morning, Sir." [How does he *always* know who it is, without even looking?]
"I trust your meeting with the Guild representatives has gone well."
[Of course. If it hadn't, you would know about that, too.] "They seemed satisfied, Sir." [That's an overstatement—the only thing that would *satisfy* them is Wonse's head on a pike. But they had no choice that to accept matters as they are.]
"Good." Vetinari turned back to face Vimes. "I have heard from Brother Winsome."
"Did you, Sir?"
"They reached the monastery without incident, and Lupine Wonse now resides there safely. Brother Winsome informs me that Wonse has settled in well. He is quite happy, for he believes that he rules Ankh-Morpork, and that the monks are there to obey him."
Vimes blinked in surprise. "But won't that come as a shock to him, Sir, when he finds out it isn't true?"
The Patrician raised his elegant eyebrows. "How exactly should he find out, Captain? In his own disturbed mind, he is the Patrician. The monks are certainly not going to contradict him."
"But is that wise, Sir? It only lessens his grip on reality."
"Why should they seek to dissuade him of his views? When Wonse understood reality, he was miserable. Now he is safe and happy where he is, believing himself to be the ruler of the most powerful city in the world."
"Yes Sir," Vimes said. Because he did not agree, however, he could not resist adding a bit maliciously; "It makes you wonder how we know what is real, doesn't it, Sir? I mean, for all we know, you may be in a monastery or hospital somewhere, only *thinking* that you're the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork, when in fact it's just all in your own imagination."
Lord Vetinari gave the Captain of the Watch one of those stares that seemed to go on for just a moment too long. Vimes returned the stare innocently, his own gaze fixed to a spot just to the left of the Patrician's head. "Thank you, Captain," Vetinari said coolly, "but I am quite aware of the reality of the world, and my place in it. And yours, as well."
[Was that a threat?] "Mine, Sir?"
"Yes." Vetinari moved to sit at his desk. "We both, in our own ways, help to keep this city functioning—not for reasons of personal power, nor of avarice, and certainly not because we expect gratitude. We keep the city running because someone must, and we are the ones best qualified to do our jobs. Regardless of how much the people of this city may scorn us, Vimes, or even be unaware of us, in the end we do our work out of love."
Vimes blinked, staggered. [Did I hear him right? Did Vetinari actually admit to *loving* this city and its people? Did I lose consciousness at some point in this conversation—or is Wonse catching, and I'm hallucinating?] "Sir?"
Vetinari was already shuffling papers; he glanced up with a slightly impatient look. It was clear that as far as he was concerned, their conversation was at an end. "Was there something else, Captain?"
"No Sir," Vimes managed. Then: "Sir?"
Vetinari looked up.
Captain Samuel Vimes snapped off a parade-perfect salute, then turned and left.